The General Specific
by MegalegU
Summary: One-shot. A challenge interrupts a very "important" mortgage fraud case. White Collar fluff!


**Title: The General Specific (Band of Horses song title)**

**Pairings: None**

**Warnings: One swear, very mild, no violence. Just some more White Collar fluff XD**

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><p>"Caffrey, that's cheating!" Peter complained, from the way back of the room. His tie was loosened, sloppily hanging from his neck, his brown suit jacket resting on a nearby desk. His hair was in all directions, and he could feel a strong urge for caffeine. He and Neal had been working nonstop on a mortgage fraud case that had been thrown at the both of them that morning. It was the typical dreaded case, and neither one wanted to see it any longer. It was late, about ten-thirty, and Peter was hungry and tired and feeling guilty for not rushing home to have dinner with his beautiful, patient wife, but he <em>needed <em>to get this done so that he could finally get back on track with the semi-interesting cases. Somewhere in the middle of sifting through paperwork and opening various files to scrounge for any sort of information, they had ended up talking about childhood games, at which point Neal had proclaimed "red light, green light" was the game he took the gold medal in. Peter had challenged him, and within minutes they were up out of their chairs and running across the room. Jones had soon joined them, and Neal was at the other end, being the, well, traffic light. Jones was far ahead, and Peter had just been sent to the back for sneezing.

"Is not!" Neal shouted. "You moved! Do you remember the rules or do we have to go over them?"

Peter seethed. "You'll be laughing tomorrow when _you'll _be reaching for your wallet to buy my lunch!"

"Is this a bet?" Neal challenged. "If you win, I pay for your lunch, and vice versa?"

Peter considered it. "Yes."

"Nah, I don't think I like that." Neal rolled back his shoulders. He smiled at Jones, who was still in his 'red light' pose: arm extended outwards, one foot in the air. He wouldn't be able to hold it for much longer.

"Then what?" Peter asked, annoyed.

"If _I _win, I want an hour set aside for me to nap."

"Seriously? That's what you want?"

"And a cup of coffee from my choice of café."

"You still have to pay for my lunch if _I _win. Any restaurant I choose."

Neal cocked his head to the side. Peter was driving a hard bargain. "Fine, but I can't make any promises for my wallet to make an appearance."

"Your ass will be making an appearance back to prison if it doesn't."

Jones chuckled.

Neal nodded, turned back to the wall, and shouted, "GREEN LIGHT!"

Jones immediately sprinted into action. He was almost three quarters of the way there before Neal spun back around in his shiny black loafers, and shouted, "RED LIGHT!"

Jones halted, putting an arm out to steady himself, and his knee buckled. He fell onto the carpet with a sigh. "I'll go back…" he muttered, avoiding Neal's knowing smile.

Peter, who was now halfway there, smirked as Jones passed him.

Neal cast a playful glance in Peter's direction, one that said, _you ready to lose? _To which Peter countered with an eyebrow raise that simply conveyed, _it's on. _

Neal slowly turned back around, and faced the window that overlooked the bright lights and hustle-and-bustle of New York City. "GREEN LIGHT!"

Peter calmly walked towards Neal, maintaining the calm swagger of the White Collar division agent that he was. He took his time, walking even slower as he got closer to Neal. He barely noticed Jones flying up ahead of him, suit jacket flapping behind him like a cape.

"RED LIGHT!" Neal turned and was almost nose-to-nose with Jones, who was teetering on one leg. Then, he craned his neck to see Peter, who was right behind him, arms crossed, grinning.

"What? You think you've got this?" Neal asked. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Jones was in the lead.

"I know I do." Peter laughed.

"We'll see." Neal glanced back again at Jones, realizing how close the man was. He knew what that meant.

"Green light," he muttered grudgingly.

"YES!" Jones shouted, as he slapped Neal on the shoulder. He did a little 'happy dance' that was almost too mortifying to watch. Neal sulked back to the other end of the room, to join Peter.

"Best two out of three?" he bargained.

"You're on."


End file.
